


Beautiful Goodbye

by accordingtomel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But as of late, Arthur had been sinking into these moods more and more frequently, sometimes remaining on the outer edge of rage for days at a time. This had been going on for several weeks now. And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Merlin was dying. Except that it had <i>everything</i> to do with the fact that Merlin was dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my attempt at writing a “short” fic *snorts* ;). Still, it’s under 10k so that has to count for something. Anyway, the concept kind of came to me after listening to David Cook’s song “Permanent,” but the actual title comes from Amanda Marshall’s song “Beautiful Goodbye.” Both songs are absolutely gorgeous and I highly recommend listening to them! Many thanks to my dear friend [awakencordy](http://awakencordy.livejournal.com/) for the beta! Originally written in August, 2009.

* * *

**  
Beautiful Goodbye   
**

 

“Merlin’s asking for you.”

 

Arthur glanced up from the piles of papers strewn haphazardly on the table in front of him and raised a single questioning brow at the source of the intrusion.

 

“Is he?” Arthur shot back, voice deceptively void of any sort of emotion.  But there was a brief flicker of something dark reflected in his sky blue eyes.

 

Guinevere nodded and stepped into the room, carefully shutting the door behind her as she made her way over to her husband.  “He is,” she repeated calmly, watching him carefully for his reaction to this piece of information.

 

“And why are you the one informing me of this Gwen?” he asked with deliberate nonchalance, pushing aside some of the papers and looking up to meet her steady gaze.  Inwardly she cringed at the use of her nickname; she was Queen Guinevere now, not the young, naïve maidservant Gwen she had been so many years ago.  But outwardly she kept her demeanour reserved.

 

“Do you really have to ask?” she wondered with a light, humourless chuckle, barely managing to hold back an eye roll.  He really could be quite dim sometimes.

 

Arthur frowned then, folding his arms across his chest.  “The servants are scared of me,” he announced coolly.  It was a comment, not a question.  Perhaps he wasn’t quite as dense as she’d thought.

 

“Can you honestly blame them Arthur?”

 

Arthur was the kind of rare King that was lauded by nearly all of his subjects.  He was known for his compassion and warmth.  But he was also just and fair, and if a sentence was passed upon a prisoner for whatever crime they had committed, the people of Camelot knew that he or she had received a fair trial and that the decision had been made in sound judgement.  While the people loved him, they were also aware that there were circumstances when Arthur’s temper would flare, and it was in moments like those when no one dared to stand in his way, save for a few brave souls who knew that they would live to tell the tale.  It was something that had been present since youth, but only became more pronounced when he was thrust into the spotlight as the new King of Camelot.

 

Most of the time, these bursts of indignant fury were directed at an enemy Prince, King or Queen, or at some sort of grave injustice in the land.  But as of late, Arthur had been sinking into these moods more and more frequently, sometimes remaining on the outer edge of rage for days at a time.  The people – as well as the rest of his council – knew to avoid him during these times, but unfortunately the servants were unable to enjoy the same luxury.  As a result, most were constantly on edge, one always trying to find a valid reason to send someone else to his chambers instead.  Guinevere had begun requesting that the servants only do their work while the King was out training soldiers or preoccupied with meetings.

 

This had been going on for several weeks now.  And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Merlin was dying.  Except that it had _everything_ to do with the fact that Merlin was dying.

 

Arthur snorted in response, forgoing an actual verbal retort, and Guinevere wondered if it was because he had no rational excuse to give her.  Of course it was probably difficult to deny the truth when he had to have his wife deliver messages that the pageboys were too terrified to deliver themselves.  Merlin’s sickness had put a strain on everyone in the castle, but it had hit Arthur particularly hard.  He’d been acting like a lost, angry puppy for quite some time now and even Guinevere found it trying to be in the same room with him for too long.

 

She pushed that thought aside, however, as she pressed on in the conversation.  “It sounded important.  Merlin said he needed to speak to you as soon as possible.”

 

Arthur continued to study the reports in front of him in silence and Guinevere was beginning to wonder if he’d even heard her.  She was about to repeat herself when he finally spoke.  “Did he say what it was about?”  His voice was soft.  Careful.  Guarded.  But she still heard the hint of concern that she knew he was trying to conceal.

 

“No.  He didn’t say.”

 

Silence filled the air, the intensity of the situation weighing heavily on both of them, and Guinevere wondered when things had become this strained between them.  Arthur shuffled the papers one last time, before deliberately pushing them away from himself, palms pressing into the oak table beneath his hands.  He sighed heavily and finally stood, planting a soft kiss on his wife’s cheek before heading out of the room wordlessly.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

It was with a mixture of anticipation and fear that Arthur entered Merlin’s temporary chambers a short while later.  He had been staying in quarters that were closer to Arthur, as there were more available rooms in his wing of the castle.  When Merlin had first started displaying symptoms that were worrisome, Arthur had insisted that he move closer to where the court physician resided in order to more easily oversee his recovery.  Merlin’s words at the time still rang in his ears, a haunting premonition of what was to come.  _It’s not as if this is something that will last a long time Arthur.  I am not a child and I don’t need to be closer to the physician.  My current chambers are perfectly fine.  Just give me a couple days to rest and I’ll be as good as new._

 

Except that he hadn’t been “as good as new” after a few days, even with the current court physician tending to him.  And once it had become apparent to Arthur that something was seriously wrong with his friend, he’d immediately sent word to bring in some of the top physicians in the surrounding areas in order to diagnose him.

 

 _“So what’s going on?” Arthur asked tersely, not wanting to waste any time beating around the bush._

 _“I don’t know, sire.  His condition is a mystery.”_

 _That was not the answer Arthur wanted or was expecting to hear.  This was the third physician who had examined Merlin in the past week and it was beginning to frustrate Arthur immensely that they still didn’t have any answers.  “And what exactly is his condition?”_

 _“Well, it’s kind of complicated, sire…” Albinus began, hands gesturing wildly._

 _But Arthur was having none of that.  “I do not have time to waste listening to you ramble.  Spit it out or get out of my court.”_

 _Albinus stopped fumbling and bowed his head reverently before meeting Arthur’s cold gaze.  “In essence, your Highness, his organs appear to be shutting down of their own volition.”_

 _Arthur frowned as a sharp spike of something resembling terror shot through his entire being, settling deep within his gut._

 _“Is there a chance that it’s poison?” he asked, somewhat hopefully.  There was almost always a cure to a poisoning.  Arthur could easily arrange to go and retrieve whatever was necessary to produce the antidote._

 _“If it is, it is not a poison I have ever seen or dealt with before.”_

 _“Sorcery?”_

 _Albinus shook his head.  “It does not appear to be so, sire.”_

 _Arthur’s frown deepened, blue eyes piercing the physician standing before him.  “So what can be done for him?”_

 _Albinus met Arthur’s harsh stare with a deep compassion set into his chocolate brown eyes.  His stomach dropped heavily as he heard the words that would instantly destroy a part of his soul._

 _“There is not much that can be done for him, sire.”  Albinus paused, swallowing carefully before continuing.  “Except for making him comfortable until he finally passes away.”_

 _Arthur was pretty sure he was going to be sick._

 _“I will not accept that option,” he growled, voice dripping with venomous rage as he took his leave of the physician._

 

That was nearly three weeks ago.  Another four physicians later, and they were still no closer to figuring out what was going on.  Merlin had been getting progressively worse.  Wracked with an unrelenting fever, losing weight from his already slender frame, sleeping for the vast majority of the day, and only slightly aware of what was going on around him when he _was_ awake.  However, strangely enough, he had begun to start showing some signs of improvement over the past couple of days.  At least when it came to his conscious awareness of the world around him.  Arthur had been spending most of his free time with the warlock, but was still surprised he’d been summoned.

 

Two pairs of eyes immediately turned to him as he made his way into the room – that of Merlin and the servant boy who was currently tending to him.  Arthur was pretty sure his name was James, though he wasn’t willing to wager anything important on that detail.  The attending physician was likely in the next room and didn’t need to be called unless there was an emergency.  It still made Arthur slightly nervous, all the same.  And it made him wish that Gaius were still the court physician.  Arthur always felt more at ease when Gaius was present.

 

The smell of herbs and spices and medicine and sickness assaulted Arthur’s nose, surrounding him with a sort of mocking cruelty as if to remind him of Merlin’s condition every second that he remained in the room.

 

“Arthur.”  The affection in his voice was unmistakable.

 

Arthur’s permanent scowl melted away almost instantaneously, if for no other reason than the simple fact that Merlin was grinning stupidly at him.  And really, it didn’t take much more than that to win Arthur over.  But it figured that Merlin could be both the cause of – and solution to – Arthur’s current temper flare.

 

“Merlin,” he responded warmly, but kept his voice as even as possible.  It was no secret to anyone inside and out of the castle that he was incredibly close to the sick warlock, but that didn’t mean that they shouldn’t still maintain some sense of propriety.

 

Merlin, for his part, looked slightly better than death warmed over.  But just barely.  His shaggy brown mop of hair lay against his brow, ruffled and damp, likely from sweat.  His usually pale skin was a shade of ivory white that Arthur had never seen on another human being before.  Dark bags drooped beneath his eyes, in spite of the fact that he’d been doing almost nothing except sleeping this past week and a half.  But he was smiling lightly, as if it were just another day.  And even from this distance Arthur could still detect the slight glint in his crystal blue eyes.

 

Arthur made his way over to Merlin’s bedside, and James made it painfully obvious that he was making way for the King to do whatever he pleased.  Without even needing to ask, the servant grabbed a stool and placed it near the head of the bed for Arthur to sit on.

 

Arthur nodded in the boy’s direction in gratitude, but James was looking anywhere but at the King.  He bustled to the other side of the room, making himself busy and Arthur shook his head slightly.  He glanced at the stool, then at Merlin, and finally refocused his attention back on the servant.

 

“You may take your leave,” Arthur told him a moment later, when it was obvious that he wasn’t going to leave without being told, even though it was clear that the boy did not want to be in the room in the first place.

 

Arthur watched with a measure of trepidation and a fair bit of annoyance as the servant scurried from the room, like a mouse that was being chased away by a cat – as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.  Had he really become that much of a tyrant these last few weeks?

 

Arthur glanced at Merlin then, who lay perfectly still but was watching him with a measure of amusement and a look that clearly demonstrated that he was not overly impressed.  Arthur knew it was probably too much to hope that the warlock would refrain from commenting on the scene he had just witnessed, but he willed it to be true all the same.

 

Merlin, however, was Merlin.  And he wouldn’t have been the man Arthur had grown to trust and respect implicitly if he weren’t his typical, brutally honest self.  Much to Arthur’s chagrin.  “Wow, you really have instilled the fear of the gods in them,” Merlin pointed out cheekily, as Arthur drug a chair to his bedside and plopped down beside his former manservant and friend.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes sarcastically and shook his head, leaning forward in his seat to rest his forearms on his thighs.  He noted at this point how close he was to his friend and actively resisted the urge to reach out and grab Merlin’s hand.  He was a King, not a teenage girl, he had to remind himself.  All the same, Arthur couldn’t quite seem to stop his hands from fisting into two balls momentarily.

 

“Yes, well, perhaps it’s about time that someone did,” Arthur shot back.  He was absolutely not having this argument with Merlin of all people.

 

Two incredulous brows shot up into the air, practically disappearing under the mop of damp brown hair that lay across Merlin’s forehead.  “And berating a servant for 10 minutes when he brought you the wrong wine is your brilliant method for doing so?  Or sending Edward to the stocks three times in one day because he wasn’t able to draw you a hot bath?”

 

Arthur’s head shot up in surprise, eyes widening and mouth falling open ever so slightly.  How in the hell did Merlin know about that?  He knew that people had been talking lately, especially the servants.  But Merlin had been holed up in this room for weeks now.  And barely conscious for the vast majority of that time.  It was highly unlikely that gossip would make its way to Merlin these days, considering his current position in the castle.

 

He voiced his concern.  “How on earth did you find out about that?”  And if he still sounded a little shell shocked, well he sure wasn’t going to ever admit that.

 

Merlin chuckled lightly, lips quirking into a partial smirk.  “Please, Arthur.  I may no longer be a servant, but I still interact with them on a regular basis.  They like me because I’m nice to them.”

 

“I _am_ nice.”

 

“Yes.  You are.  When you’re not being a prat, that is,” Merlin informed him, voice light but holding a certain air of concern.

 

Arthur shrugged, shooting Merlin his most innocent look.  It was one he’d practiced a great deal over the years and usually found it to be quite effective if used in the correct situation.  Granted, it had yet to work on Merlin...but there was always another opportunity to try.

 

Merlin’s expression turned serious then, deep blue eyes peering up at Arthur through dark lashes.  "Look Arthur, you can't keep going around making everyone's lives miserable."

 

"Of course I can.  I'm the King."

 

Merlin released a deep, throaty chuckle that shook his whole body.  "Yes, well, not if you want to remain King.  People are going to start to fear you in the worst way.”  He paused contemplatively before continuing on.  “Is that really what you want?”

 

Arthur tried not to groan.  Of course Merlin had to be logical about all of this.  Ask him to do a load of laundry or muck out the stables and he couldn’t demonstrate competence if he tried.  But somehow, when it came to Arthur’s well being, Merlin seemed incapable of taking a wrong turn.  It was just one of the many mysteries of the man, and Arthur had yet to determine if it was a charming or disconcerting characteristic.

 

“Fine, so maybe not,” Arthur reluctantly admitted.  He didn’t like it, but sometimes Merlin did make a valid point and he had long since given up trying to deny it when it happened.  “But I still have a right to be angry if I want to be,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

 

The warlock heaved an exaggerated, almost _comical_ sigh, but appeared to be genuinely un-amused.  “I know it makes you feel better somehow, but I’m not sure what good it does you.”

 

Arthur knew that Merlin spoke the truth, but he honestly didn’t know what else to do.  Of course it wasn’t the servants’ fault that Merlin was sick.  But Arthur wanted someone to blame, and they were an easy target.  It was a cruel and unfair tactic to use, he was willing to recognize.  But he had been struggling immensely, and there was a small part of him that wanted someone else to suffer like he was.  Arthur could not claim any of his behaviour was right or productive or beneficial to him.  However, he didn’t want his friend to know just how deeply impacted he was by all of this.  He needed to be strong for Merlin.  And so with that thought in mind, he picked the safe response, as opposed to the one he actually wanted to give.  “Well you haven’t been around for me to yell at so I needed to take it out on someone.”

 

This time Merlin graced him with an elegant eye roll.  He had truly turned it into an art form over the years.  “Honestly, Arthur...  All you need to do is stop being a prat.”  But there was an air of finality to his words, and Arthur knew that he was consciously choosing to drop the subject for the time being.

 

“So Merlin,” Arthur started then, feeling oddly awkward all of a sudden as he completely changed the current topic of conversation to the thing that had been on his mind since he’d first entered the room.  “Gwen told me you’d been asking to see me.  I assume it wasn’t simply to yell at me for being a prat?”

 

Merlin smirked and shook his head gently.  “No, that wasn’t the only reason.  Though it was one of them.”  He paused then, as all traces of his former smile melted away and he broke off eye contact with Arthur, gaze focusing on some spot on his bed sheets.

 

Arthur sat forward, his internal alarm suddenly on full alert. 

 

Merlin peered up at Arthur sadly, moisture welling up in his eyes, as Arthur forced himself to maintain his gaze.  “Look, Arthur, the main reason why I wanted to talk to you today was so that we could have a proper chance to say goodbye.  While I’m conscious and aware of what’s going on around me.  I don’t know how much longer this will last.”

 

It was like a punch to the gut.  Of a man who had already been beaten to a figurative bloody pulp.  This was too much to take right now, and Arthur was not ready to face the reality of his death just yet.  “Don’t talk like that,” he ordered sternly.

 

“I need to.  I don’t know how much time I have left and I didn’t want to go without...”  He trailed off, allowing the sentence to finish itself.

 

“You’re strong.  You’re a fighter.  You’ve been getting a bit better these past couple of days.  Maybe it’s a sign that things are improving,” Arthur suggested, knowing internally that he was placing a false hope in something that would never happen, but still wasn’t willing to let go of the possibility regardless.

 

Dark brows furrowed in frustration.  But he spoke with a gentleness that envied a mother whispering reassuring words to her frightened child.  “Physician after physician has said the same thing.  My body is slowly shutting down.  I’m not going to magically get better, as much as we all want it to be true.”

 

It was all true.  Arthur was able to acknowledge this intellectually.  He’d been present at every meeting with the physicians; all seven of them.  He’d heard the same set of words over and over again; felt the power of their diagnoses eat away at his own conviction and tear to shreds his last remaining strands of hope.  But to acknowledge and accept that these words were more than flagrant predictions – to believe that it was far more likely seven physicians were correct than his misguided faith in his own perceived destiny – had the potential to shatter the walls of control that he had spent so many years carefully crafting for his own protection.  For Arthur to admit out loud that perhaps Merlin _was_ dying would require him to acknowledge the enormity of the impact that his death would have on his life.  And to acknowledge the hole that would remain in his heart, where Merlin had buried himself in so many years before, would also require him to accept the harsh reality that his friend was far more than just his friend, and that his influence and significance in Arthur’s life went beyond that of most everyone else he knew and cared about.  It was a painful reality, and he wished more than anything in the world that he wouldn’t have to face it until they were both old and ready to move on.

 

“Merlin, I…” he paused, gearing up to say the things that he knew were necessary to put into words, as his eyes slid shut almost of their own accord.  He could only deny the truth for so long, and it seemed as though an acknowledgement of the reality of his fate was what Merlin wanted, _needed_ , from him.

 

He was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge to cry at the injustice and cruelty of the situation.  He’d seen many young men die an all too early death, fighting and dying for their homes.  That Merlin should pass away due to some random, undiagnosed sickness seemed particularly unfair.  Arthur took a steadying breath before continuing.  “I know.”

 

It was the most he could do.  It was as much of an acknowledgement as he was able to give, and he hoped Merlin understood and could accept it for what it was.

 

Merlin smiled, warm and genuine, a mix of affection and sorrow painted in his deep blue eyes, and it was all Arthur could do to keep from breaking down right then and there.  He felt his chest constrict tightly, heart shattering into a million tiny pieces as he realized that this could very well be one of the last times he would ever seen Merlin’s crooked grin again.  Swallowing the lump of despair rising in his throat, Arthur actively fought against the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

 

“What am I going to do without you?” Arthur managed to ask weakly, miraculously sounding as if he were far more in control of his emotions at the moment then he truly was.

 

“You’re going to continue to be the wonderful King that you’ve already proven yourself to be,” Merlin told him, voice so sincere and thick with emotion that it felt like a stab directly to his gut.  “And you’re going to have all kinds of adventures and accomplish many more great things during your reign.  Just like I always knew you would.”

 

He knew exactly what Merlin was trying to do, but he just couldn’t accept his attempts to make it seem like it was going to be fine, when it _wasn’t_ going to be fine.

 

“I don’t want to do any of those things if you’re not there with me.  What happened to our destiny?” Arthur demanded, voice hitching ever so slightly.  His ability to filter the words spewing from his mouth had apparently become incapacitated, yet Arthur found that he cared very little about that minor detail at the present moment.  He buried his face into a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly and trying to just think.  This was not how things were supposed to go.  They were supposed to become crotchety old men together, to fight battles and keep each other in line and accomplish great things for Camelot, calling one another “prat” and “idiot” until their teeth fell out and they could no longer speak properly.  That was how it was supposed to happen.  Merlin was absolutely not destined to die so young.  It wasn’t fair and Arthur was suddenly filled with a rage that he didn’t know he possessed.

 

“Perhaps this is our destiny,” Merlin offered sadly.  Though he certainly wasn’t fooling Arthur.

 

“I won’t accept that.”

 

“I’m not sure that there’s anything you can do to change it,” Merlin told him softly.  Arthur felt something brush against his arm and without even thinking about it, the King reached out to take Merlin’s hand in his.  Arthur glanced down at the soft, cold hand that rested in his and absently began to trace the lines of his ever visible veins without fully recognising what he was doing.  There were no wrinkles, no scars, no dry skin.  Merlin’s hand was soft and weak and cold.  Arthur was once again reminded of the injustice of it all.  He felt Merlin squeeze gently and as quickly as it had arrived, the rage seemed to melt into an extreme sorrow once again.

 

A heavy silence filled the room as the two men stared at one another, each trying to figure out the right thing to say.  There was a certain energy in the room that seemed charged with something unique and new to them both.

 

Merlin was the one who finally broke the silence.  “Arthur, can I ask you to do two things for me?”

 

“Anything,” he replied instantly, voice firm and confident.  He didn’t need to think about this one at all.  There was absolutely nothing in the world that Arthur would not do for Merlin, if he asked.  Hell, there was nothing he wouldn’t do, even if Merlin _hadn’t_ asked.  He would climb any mountain, fight any beast, pay any amount of money, strike any deal, or hire anyone who walked on the earth if it meant that Merlin was safe, alive and well.  Short of handing the kingdom over to the warlock – and even that he might consider if it meant Merlin would live to see another day – Arthur would do anything that he was capable of doing for Merlin at any time, any day.  So when Merlin asked Arthur for two things, he already knew that he would do whatever it was his friend requested of him.

 

Merlin looked genuinely touched by his response, and Arthur hoped that he could tell how sincere his words were.

 

“All right, then,” he started with a slight nod of his head.  “I want you to be a great King.  Become the man and ruler that I know you’re going to be,” Merlin told him.  Arthur swallowed thickly and was about to open his mouth to respond when Merlin kept going.

 

“Don’t make everyone’s lives miserable forever.”  The hint of a smile graced his features before it quickly vanished once again.  “Seriously Arthur,” he continued, “don’t allow yourself to sink into a hole so deep that you’ll never be able to get out again.  It’s not worth it.  I need to know that you won’t allow this to defeat you.”

 

Coming from anyone else, the plea might have sounded arrogant or even downright ridiculous – to assume that the King of Camelot could come apart so easily.  But this was not just anyone.  It was _Merlin_.  Merlin, his former servant.  Merlin, his most trusted advisor.  Merlin, his dearest and truest friend.  Merlin...possibly the one person on earth who knew Arthur better than he knew himself.  For the man to know that this had the potential to ruin Arthur if he allowed it to, and even more significantly, for him to acknowledge and bring this fact to the forefront was only an indication of the true bond that they shared.

 

But it was not an easy request, and Arthur suspected that Merlin had to know it too.  Still, if this was what the warlock wanted, then Arthur would not deny him.  Besides, Arthur was strong.  He had been a trained warrior since birth.  He would do this somehow, if not for himself then at least for Merlin.

 

“Very well.  I promise,” he answered after a moment, holding Merlin’s gaze for several moments, as if trying to also reassure him telepathically.

 

Merlin studied him carefully, eyes scrutinising the man sitting before him, as if to ensure the sincerity behind his words.  After what felt like a short eternity, the warlock nodded satisfactorily and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief that he’d answered sufficiently.

 

“And the second thing?” Arthur queried, brow raised questioningly.

 

Merlin looked away from him for a second, almost as if he were embarrassed.  “I don’t really have a right to ask this of you...” he started slowly.

 

But Arthur squeezed his hand reassuringly and pulled out the most sincere smile he could muster under the circumstances.  He waited for the warlock to meet his gaze once again before speaking.  “Merlin.  Whatever you want.”

 

  

  1. Arthur was about to insist that he spit it out when he finally did.
  



 

“Will you stay here with me tonight?”

 

So that was it.  It didn’t take Arthur more than a second to make a decision.

 

“Of course I will.”

 

Merlin’s face brightened considerably, blue eyes sparkling ever so slightly amidst the dark, swollen circles that surrounded his eyes.  But then he frowned, scrunching his face up thoughtfully, as if something had just occurred to him at that very moment.  “As long as you’re fine with it too, of course.”

 

There was definitely something resembling fear and doubt in the man’s voice, and Arthur would not have him thinking that he felt guilted into staying by Merlin’s side when the truth of the matter was that Arthur hadn’t wanted to _leave_ his side since he’d first been struck with his mysterious illness.

 

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing until he was actually doing it.  But without hesitation or pause to consider the implications of his actions, Arthur moved from his stool next to the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Merlin.  In one swift movement, he leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Merlin’s.  It was intended to be a short, chaste kiss.  But when he felt the warlock’s lips move against his, tongue licking experimentally across Arthur’s bottom lip, he instinctively deepened the kiss, suddenly wanting nothing more than to drink in the taste of Merlin.  There was an element of desperation and fear in the kiss as they hungrily explored each other’s mouths, but there were also equal parts desire and deep affection woven into the mix.

 

This was their first kiss in all the years that they’d known one another.  Which was not to say that Arthur hadn’t ever wanted to kiss Merlin before.  In fact he had.  On many occasions.  And Arthur was equally aware of Merlin’s desire to do the same.  But it was something that they had never allowed themselves to explore, due to the dangerous path it could have led them down.  Arthur had been a Prince, and now was a King of one of the greatest and most powerful nations in the known world.  Certain things had been expected of him.  To choose a Queen, to father an heir to the throne, and to set an example for his people.  Dabbling in an affair with his servant-turned-friend-and-advisor would not have accomplished any of those things.  Besides, he did love Gwen.  And he would not do anything to disgrace her good name.  But Merlin, well Merlin was another story all together.  Sometimes words were not sufficient.

 

Somewhere at the back of his consciousness, Arthur’s mind was telling him that this probably wasn’t the best thing for Merlin to be doing at the moment.  And so with great reluctance, Arthur pulled away from Merlin, instantly missing the taste of him on his lips.  He also noted with some amusement that his left hand – the one not still grasping onto Merlin – had risen to cup the other man’s face at some point.  But Arthur was now grateful for that unconscious move, as he allowed his thumb to gently stroke Merlin’s cheek.

 

Merlin lay on the bed, eyes locked onto his as he struggled to catch his breath once again.  He wheezed several times and then began to cough.  It took several moments for his breathing to return to normal – or as normal as it had been as of late – and Arthur felt a stab of guilt that he was the reason for Merlin’s current breathing difficulties.

 

“I’m sorry,” he found himself uttering sheepishly.

 

But instead of yelling at him, as would have been a justifiable response, Merlin just smirked.  “If you’re going to do something like that, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to apologize.  It was worth it.”

 

And Arthur couldn’t quite hold back the smile that blossomed onto his own face.  Leaning down once more he pressed a second kiss to Merlin’s warm lips, savouring the taste of him one last time.

 

“Just to be clear, do you want me to sit here with you, or do you want me with you in your bed?” he asked as he pulled away.

 

Merlin’s face immediately turned a deep, crimson red in embarrassment, and Arthur found it achingly adorable.  “Well, that’s entirely up to you of course,” he paused, clearly uncomfortable and struggling for the right words, “but I would _prefer_ if you stayed with me in my bed.”

 

Arthur was having a bit of a hard time believing that they were having this conversation, like this.  And for the briefest of moments, he felt a strong pang of regret that he’d never pursued a relationship like this with Merlin before.  But perhaps in a lot of ways, the one they already had was just as intense, if not even more so.  Still, it was now something that he would never be able to know or experience...and it broke his heart just a little, all the same.

 

“I just want to feel you near me,” Merlin added sheepishly, blush deepening even more.  But he did not sound ashamed.  And it was the kind of thing Arthur would typically call Merlin a girl for, except that given the situation, it was the furthest thought from his mind.

 

Arthur nodded and reached over to brush his fingers lightly across Merlin’s forehead affectionately.  “All right,” he said.

 

Standing, Arthur reluctantly extracted his hand from Merlin’s and walked over to the dresser on the other side of the room.  He then started to undress, methodically removing and folding each item of clothing he had been wearing and placing them on the dresser.

 

“What are you doing?” he heard Merlin call a few moments later.

 

“Well I can’t very well sleep in my clothes, can I?” Arthur shot back logically, voice tinged with amusement, despite the seriousness of the situation.  He placed his boots off to the side of the dresser and folded his trousers carefully.  Opening the dresser, he rummaged through for a night shirt to wear.  He could feel Merlin watching his every move, but paid him no heed for the moment.

 

Once Arthur found a suitable white shirt he put it on, pleased that it actually fit him perfectly in spite of their difference in build.  Turning back to Merlin, dressed only in his undershorts and white night shirt, he headed back over to the bed.

 

Standing, he surveyed the situation, attempting to figure out the best way to do this.  The bed wasn’t as large as Arthur’s own, but there was definitely room for two.  However, Arthur’s main concern was ensuring that Merlin was comfortable.

 

“Do you think you can help me when I move you, or am I on my own?” Arthur asked Merlin after he’d made a decision about sleeping arrangements.

 

Merlin shrugged.  “I’ll do what I can, but I probably won’t be much help.”

 

Arthur nodded and moved to the head of the bed.  Slipping his left arm gingerly behind Merlin’s shoulders he slowly and carefully lifted his upper body off the bed.  One of Merlin’s hands pressed into the bed beneath him in an attempt to assist in the process, but Arthur knew that he wasn’t really doing much.  He heard a small gasp from the other man and paused uncertainly.

 

“Is this hurting you?”

 

“No,” Merlin grunted out, not sounding overly convincing.  “But just try to hurry.”

 

With his other arm, Arthur supported Merlin’s chest and quickly slid into bed behind him.  He pulled Merlin against his body and shifted them both over so his right leg wasn’t hanging off the side of the bed.  As quickly as he could, Arthur fumbled to arrange the pillows behind him to keep him slightly propped up and then sunk back into their softness, pulling Merlin down with him.  Arthur took a couple minutes to shift Merlin between his legs so that they were both as comfortable as possible.

 

“How is this?” Arthur asked hesitantly.  “Are you comfortable or do you want me to move?”

 

“It’s fine.  Great, actually,” Merlin informed him quietly.  He sounded tired, but Arthur had no reason to believe that he wasn’t telling the truth.

 

“Good.”

 

And with only a slight amount of hesitancy, he wrapped his left arm around Merlin’s waist and his right arm across the man’s chest.  He was starting to question whether or not this was the best plan when he felt Merlin’s hand come to rest on his left arm and squeeze lightly.  And he knew then that it was fine.  It was an odd feeling, holding Merlin like this, but he found that he liked it.  Something about it felt so right, as if they had been made for this.

 

They remained like that, breaths slowing until they were synchronized and adjusting to the feel of their bodies pressed against one another, for quite some time.  Arthur’s hold on Merlin was secure, but also exceedingly gentle, face pressed firmly against the top of Merlin’s damp mop of brown hair.  There were so many words that he wanted to say...so many more things that he needed to tell Merlin, but he couldn’t seem to get past the sudden lump in his throat.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin finally ventured a few minutes later, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Arthur started at his words, having believed that Merlin had fallen asleep already.  “Yes?” he asked cautiously.

 

“There’s something I need to tell you.”  His voice was rough, like he was straining to speak, and on instinct Arthur shushed him.

 

“Don’t talk Merlin,” Arthur commanded softly, reaching up to gently stroke the warlock’s cheek.  “You can tell me whatever it is you have to say tomorrow.  After you get some rest.”  He deliberately and pointedly ignored the nagging voice at the back of his mind that wondered if there even _would_ be a tomorrow for Merlin.  But of course there would.  There had to be.  Arthur wasn’t ready to lose him yet.

 

But Merlin was insistent.  “This can’t wait.  I can’t...take that risk,” he said in what was possibly the most agonising voice Arthur had ever heard, sucking in a deep breath before continuing.  “We’ve been through a lot, you and I.  And I just...wanted to thank you for everything.  For trusting in me, for risking your life for mine countless times, and especially for not kicking my arse when you found out about my magic.”

 

Arthur chuckled in spite of himself, the memory suddenly fresh in his mind.

 

“But most of all, I wanted to thank you for being the best friend I’ve ever had.  You believed in me when no one else did, even shortly after we met.  You’ve continued to believe in me, support me, and defend me since then, and I can’t thank you enough for that.  It’s been a true honour to serve you all these years Arthur.”

 

There was no mistaking the genuine affection in his tone, and Arthur instantly felt his heart constrict painfully.  As far as Merlin was concerned this was it.  Their last chance to say what needed to be said.  And if that really was the case, then Arthur also knew what was coming.  There was a part of him that so desperately wanted to hear the words, but an even larger part of him that didn’t.  Because when Merlin told him the truth, it would be the final nail in his coffin, and Arthur would have to truly accept that this was the end.

 

“And I know we’ve never talked about this before, but I just need you to know, before I don’t have the opportunity anymore...” Merlin carried on, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on Arthur’s arm.

 

“Merlin...” Arthur practically begged, voice breaking hoarsely.  But he didn’t care.  The only thing he knew was that if Merlin finished that sentence then he would finally lose that last strand of composure.  Nothing would be left holding him together, as the delicate seams of his shattering heart would at last tear apart, taking him down with them.

 

But Merlin would not have been Merlin had he not blatantly ignored whatever Arthur requested of him, even while standing and knocking at death’s door.

 

“I just need you to know that...”  A pause.  “I love you,” he told Arthur, voice firmer and more confident than anything he’d said all evening.  It was at that precise moment that the King felt moisture on his hand and realised that it was from Merlin’s silent tears.  And Arthur found that he could no longer prevent his own tears from spilling over, almost instantaneously creating a steady stream of salty tracks down his face.  His chest swelled, both from the elation at hearing the heartfelt truth of Merlin’s admission – one that he’d always known but never vocally had confirmed – and from the agony of realizing that these rightly and truly could be their last spoken words to one another in this life.  Merlin clearly believed it, otherwise he never would have given voice to the one truth they had both agreed long ago to keep silent.

 

Arthur swallowed thickly and bit his lip to prevent an unwelcome sob from escaping.  He buried his face in Merlin’s soft brown hair and fought for some sense of composure as the tears continued to fall down his face.  There had been a lot of sorrow and struggles in Arthur’s relatively short life thus far – he had seen and experienced atrocities that most could never even begin to imagine – but he was quite certain that he’d never felt despair like this before.

 

It took Arthur a full couple of minutes to calm his breathing and find his voice once again.  And when he did speak, his voice was raspy and thick with emotion.  “You’re the truest friend I’ve ever had Merlin.  I’m the man I am today only because of your influence in my life and your protection of me all these years.  I honestly don’t know where I would have been without you.  And I can never thank you enough for any of that.”  He paused for a moment, as much to catch his breath as to ensure that he would still be able to speak.  Arthur was not one for long, flowery speeches, but this could very well be his last chance – his last conversation with Merlin – and he was not going to allow his friend to die without knowing exactly how Arthur felt as well.

 

“So even though I think you already know...I wanted to let you know that I love you too.  I always will.”  It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders with the admission and Arthur felt inappropriately giddy for a moment, knowing that for the first time in all the years they’d known one another, Merlin and Arthur had finally laid their souls bare before the other.  But because Arthur couldn’t just leave things like that, he found himself almost unconsciously adding, “Even if you are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

 

“And you’re the most insufferable prat I’ve ever known,” Merlin shot back instantly, and even through their joint tears, Arthur could practically _feel_ the smile radiating from his friend and former manservant.  “But I wouldn’t have changed a second of it,” he added sleepily.

 

Arthur shifted slightly, with the express goal of making Merlin more comfortable, and squeezed the man in a light hug.  “Nor would I,” he admitted roughly.

 

“This isn’t the end for us Arthur.  Not for good.  Just remember that,” Merlin told him cryptically.

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur wondered as he buried his face into the warlock’s hair once again.

 

Merlin was silent for several moments and Arthur briefly wondered if he’d already fallen asleep.  But then he shattered that perception when he spoke once again.  “It’s not our end.  Just trust me,” he said softly, breathing slowing as he seamlessly drifted off into sleep.

 

And while he had no idea what Merlin meant, something about those words gave him a small amount of hope.  Arthur kissed the top of Merlin’s head softly and finally gave into his own fight to allow his weary eyes to drift shut.  The last thought he had before drifting off into a restless sleep was how much he was going to miss Merlin.

 


End file.
